


build a wall, i would run it up.

by redhoods



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Time Skip, friendship and gooey feelings, minor spoilers for blue lions route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 18:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20680184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: “Have you talked to him?” Ingrid asks suddenly.“No.”“Are you two always going to be like this then?” She sounds tired, frustrated maybe, and Felix knows it’s directed at him, just as he knows that Dimitri’s been trying lately.Felix is the one being difficult, but that should be news to no one who knows a thing about him.





	build a wall, i would run it up.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry felix does what? takes over everything his father ever was and basically becomes him? yeah nah. bump that.
> 
> this isn't beta'd.
> 
> lyrics from ocean by khalid and martin garrix.

The Emperor is dead.

_Edelgard is dead._

Something like hysteria wells in Felix’s throat as he watches the professor and Dimitri emerge from the throne room, both of their faces downcast. 

And the dam breaks, he laughs, wheezes the sound out actually, because as soon as he starts, he becomes aware of his body, adrenaline crashing to his feet as every cut and bruise and ache and possibly cracked rib makes itself known.

It does nothing to quell his laughter, manic and unhinged and relieved maybe.

He’s distantly aware of people around him, can see Sylvain’s boots in his line of sight, sees Ingrid approach, feels the hand she presses to his back.

And the laughter comes a little harder and he’s crying, he realizes, detached, hot tears down his cheeks as he wheezes for breath, an arm curled around his protesting ribs. Another hand grips his shoulder and Felix thinks that they’ve come a long way that his immediate reaction isn’t to take the easy sucker punch to Sylvain’s unprotected flank.

Also Sylvain is wearing proper armor now.

They’ve come too far, really.

The sound comes to a halt in his throat and he scrubs at his face, still half leaned over with it and Ingrid is the one to haul him up by the shoulder, squinting at him as she does so. She’s not much shorter than him on a regular day, but here, she seems much taller, “Are you alright, Felix?”

He snorts, twists it into a snarl as best he can, bites out, “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

She claps him on the cheek, ungently, and narrows her eyes.

He blows out a breath, looks away, ends up looking at Dimitri, so he looks the other way, “I’m fine, Ingrid, stop worrying so much.”

She sighs softly, drops her hand to squeeze his shoulder, “You should see someone about your injuries,” but she doesn’t stay to fight him on it, drifting off. Felix watches her for a few seconds, watches her check in with the other people from their class, soldiers that he knows but doesn’t know.

He flicks his gaze away, lands on Dimitri again despite himself.

Dimitri is talking with the professor, with Dedue, Gilbert, a few of the other nobles that Felix knows because he has to. And, maybe they’ve been strangers for years now, but he still knows Dimitri better than most. He recognizes the flex of his jaw, the way his hand twists around Areadbhar like he’s not aware he’s doing it.

No one else seems to realize.

Felix’s feet are moving before the rest of him realizes what’s happening and by the time his brain catches up, it’s too late. He’s been spotted and turning away now means. Well, he’s not sure what it means. Admitting defeat maybe, admitting that the mere sight of Dimitri still has an affect on him. He’s got to get over it since the—since Dimitri is king now.

Shit.

He juts his chin as he approaches, nods at the professor, then turns his gaze to Dimitri. Up to Dimitri. “You should see someone about your injury,” he says, not caring that he’s interrupting some conversation or that he’s being a hypocrite since he hasn’t seen anyone about his own injuries.

And Dimitri _smiles_ at him and Felix’s heart pounds in a way that screams _retreat, retreat, retreat_.

“I will if you will,” Dimitri says.

Felix snarls at him, turns on his heel and retreats.

\------

Mercedes corners him later, when he’s trying to get out of his armor, hiding out in a side room away from the others like wounded animal.

Oh, how things change.

She gasps quietly at the door and Felix twirls on his feet, shoving his tunic back down into place, unconsciously—guiltily—stepping in front of the pile of bandages he has on one of the tables that’s been crammed into the room. “Oh, Felix,” she says quietly and he doesn’t even have the energy to curl his lip at her.

His shoulders dip, chin hitting his chest as he sighs loudly, “Did Ingrid send you?”

She approaches and he only briefly misses the days when most people were too nervous to approach him directly, “Ah, no,” and there’s something there, but she nudges him towards the table, “Sit, let me see.” And starts producing items from her apron dress thing.

There’s no way all that stuff should fit in there without weighing her down, but she puts salve and gauze next to him as he lifts himself to sit on the edge of the table. He pulls his shirt up, thinking he should just cut it off but he doesn’t want to have to navigate the halls of this place without it.

“Goddess,” Mercedes breathes out quietly, her hands gentle and cool as she gently presses at his ribs and chest, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier, I could’ve healed this, I could’ve—”

Felix reaches out, squeezes his shoulder, “Other people needed it more than I did.”

She tilts her chin at him and she’s been spending too much time with Ingrid, really, “Felix,” she says, stern, motherly, and he quells, sinking back on the table, “I’m going to wrap these, but you’ll have to take it easy for a while.”

Her hands are practiced as she unravels a roll of bandages, “That means no training for a week,” she says, turns her gaze to his face, “_At least_, Felix,” she insists.

He sighs noisily and lifts his arms as best he can, takes his shirt between his teeth so he can’t say anything nasty in response. It’s not like he’s got a reason to train anyways. For now, it’s just going to nobles and talks and diplomacy.

They’ll be heading back north soon, to the monastery, then to Fhirdiad.

And after that, after that he doesn’t know what happens.

Mercedes presses on his ribs and he hisses through his teeth, “Sorry, sorry,” she says, “I want to make sure none of them are broken,” she finishes with the wrapping and tucks the tail under. “We’ll have to keep an eye on these, can’t wrap too tight or, well, lets just keep an eye on it.”

She steps back and offers him a hesitant smile, “Anywhere else?”

Pushing his shirt back down, he shakes his head. There are minor cuts and scrapes, some less minor, but he’s got plenty of experience patching those himself. He pushes his hair back from his face, “Who sent you to find me, Mercedes?”

She takes several more steps back, like she’s considering fleeing and actually goes so far as waiting until she’s at the door, fingers curled around the wood, “Dimitri suggested I should check on you after I bandaged his shoulder.”

By the time his brain starts whirring again, she’s gone.

\------

The next few days are agony of the sort that involves too many people addressing him as Duke, an instance of being chastised by someone he doesn’t actually know for not addressing Dimitri as _His Highness_ while Sylvain snickers to the side, and having to sit still for long stretches of time. 

He’s never been good at sitting still.

At some point, even Sylvain’s nudges to go out and explore the city start to sound interesting.

“You have so much more hair than it seems like,” Ingrid says, because she’s taken it upon herself to start helping him pull it up since word had gotten around with a ferocity that he’s supposed to be taking it easy.

Sylvain is inspecting his nails, leaning against the opposite wall from the chair that Felix had been pushed down into, “I don’t understand how any of you can keep it so long,” he says to his hand, “It’s a wonder Dimitri can even fight with his hair always in his one eye.”

Ingrid hums and Felix tries to act like he’s not drowsing at the feeling over her brushing his hair out, even though it’s a mess of tangles right now.

He hadn’t slept well.

He also doesn’t have an answer that he wants to share right now. His father’s hair had always been long, but Glenn had always kept his short, shorter than Sylvain’s is now, and, well. Curling his lip, he doesn’t jerk his chin though he wants to, “Don’t you have some skirt to be chasing, Sylvain.”

Sylvain glances at him, grins slow and sly, “Maybe I’m just enjoying twisting your underthings up.”

“Boys,” Ingrid says, too fond.

He’d turn to glare at her if she weren’t in the process of pulling his hair back into a ponytail.

Sylvain is still grinning though, “No, I know someone else is far more interested in your underthings.” He’s always had a shitty sense of self preservation and Felix things it’s some sort of miracle he’s still alive. Or maybe, he really is only still alive because Felix has been dragging them both through tooth and nail. They’d only been kids but words have power.

Felix ignores him, though he does bare his teeth at him.

It only makes Sylvain laugh, head tipped back, shoulders shaking with it.

Ingrid sighs loudly and pats his shoulder when she’s done, “Sylvain, stop it.”

“What, come on? Everyone knows,” Sylvain raises his hands though and starts edging for the door as soon as Felix stands from his chair.

“Everyone knows what?” Felix bites at him, stalking forward slowly. He doesn’t have to raise his arms that high to do serious damage. Fuck, he’ll strangle Sylvain with his thighs if that’s what it comes to.

Sylvain shakes his head, fumbling behind him to get the door handle open, “Oh no, I’m not getting in the middle of this,” and flees like a coward. There’s a crashing sound around the corner and Felix hopes he’s run into a door or Dedue or something equally massive and solid.

“Will you two ever stop acting like children?” Ingrid asks, long suffering as she places his brush on the table.

Felix sighs quietly and lets her loop her arm through his, leading him out of the room towards the dining area, “Probably not,” he acquiesces, like she needs the confirmation. She’s been dealing with them longer than anyone else and he envies her patience.

They fall quiet for a while and Felix’s chest hurts a little less as he breathes now, even if he can’t get his elbows above his shoulders without hissing like a cornered cat.

“Have you talked to him?” Ingrid asks suddenly.

“No.”

“Are you two always going to be like this then?” She sounds tired, frustrated maybe, and Felix knows it’s directed at him, just as he knows that Dimitri’s been trying lately.

Felix is the one being difficult, but that should be news to no one who knows a thing about him.

He licks his lips, turning his face away so she can’t see him in her periphery, “I hope not,” he answers, instead of the cruel things that sit on the tip of his tongue, boar and beast and his dead father. He is trying and that has to count for something, right?

“Talk to him,” she urges, but says nothing else as they turn the corner.

They’ll be leaving Enbarr soon, but not soon enough in his opinion.

\-----

Dimitri, the insufferable, incorrigible, inconsiderate—clever—asshole he is, waits until they’re travelling.

The road to Garreg Mach is full of soldiers, lined with civilians, all those looking to see the new King of Fodlan, hail the conquering heroes, spit on those that killed their countrymen. Felix isn’t quite sure, but it’s a spectacle and they’re moving so slow.

His ribs are aching, screaming from every step the horse takes and he’s hunched down, buffeting himself between Sylvain and Ingrid. Mercedes is behind him somewhere and she’d told him to be careful, back straight to not strain his ribs any more, but he can’t. Sitting up hurts far worse and he’s too tired to care.

His hair is coming out of the tie too, sticking to the side of his face and neck and he wishes he’d chopped it all off like he’d thought of doing. (As it is, it’s already hard enough to look at himself in the mirror and see his father, his brother, looking back without making it more apparent.)

Somehow, he misses that he’s been abandoned, doesn’t realize that Sylvain’s chatter fades off, too grateful for some peace.

Until.

“Felix.”

Hanging his head further down, chin against his chest, he hopes his hair is covering most of his face now as he swears quietly, colorfully to himself. He takes a few deep breaths, wonders if he ignores him for long enough, that maybe Dimitri will move on. Except he’s not dumb enough to think it’ll work, he’s known Dimitri for too long for that.

“Fee.”

Sighing loudly through his nose, Felix lifts his head, glances in Dimitri’s direction though he doesn’t want to. Damn him, but Felix has always been helpless to that, the quiet pleading tone, the nickname. To Dimitri in his entirety. “What?” He snaps, because he’s tired and in pain and sweating and Dimitri is sitting straight back in the saddle, looking more put together and relaxed than he has in actual years, but his face in creased with concern.

Dimitri’s sigh is more of an exhale, “Why didn’t you take a wyvern?”

Felix curls his lip, “I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

The petty urge to press his horse on faster, to pass ahead of Dimitri is strong, overwhelming really, but he can’t go any faster without tears pricking his eyes. “That you were pulling strings,” he grits out, because he does not want to have this conversation, “For me.”

“Of course, I was,” Dimitri says, easy, like it’s that simple, eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

Felix chokes out an incredulous sound even though it makes his ribs ache more, “Why?”

Silence descends on them, broken up by the sound of horse hooves, distant chatter, birds above them. Felix resists the urge to look at Dimitri now, to see what his face is doing, to see the way his hair might be getting blown by the breeze that’s picked up. The years have not been kind to Dimitri in many ways, but Felix would have to bury his face in the dirt to be able to miss that they have been (mostly) kind to him physically.

“You are—were—are one of my best friends, Felix,” Dimitri says finally, in fits and starts, and Felix resists the urge to gripe at him to take his time. It’s rare that Dimitri doesn’t have some sort of formal speech prepared for these sorts of situations and made stranger since he instigated this conversation in the first place.

Dimitri exhales loudly and the distance between them is possibly a blessing, “Is it so crazy to believe that I would want to alleviate any pain you might be feeling, if I can?”

And that’s it, really, isn’t it?

Dimitri gives and gives and gives, himself, his life, body, eye, mind, heart to other people—living or dead.

Felix grits his teeth as they start moving up at an angle, up a hill, focuses on his breathing and not his scattering, spiralling thoughts.

The plateau of the hill comes too soon and not soon enough and Felix pulls a glove off with his teeth to shove his hair back out of his face. His ribs are already protesting and there’s only so much of his hair tickling his jaw he can take. Then, still not looking in Dimitri’s direction, “I’m sorry.”

Dimitri makes a sound next to him, like he’s been punched, “Whatever for?”

Tipping his head back, Felix stares at the sky, praying to a goddess that may or may not exist for some small iota of patience for dealing with the idiot next to him before he tackles him off his fucking horse. “I’ve been an asshole,” he says, very slowly, “You’ve been trying and I haven’t been and that’s not fair.”

Then clicks his mouth shut so hard that his teeth clack painfully. At least it detracts from the pain in his ribs.

“I deserve worse than whatever vitriol you can spew at me, Felix,” Dimitri says.

And Felix laughs, a little hysteria edged, and he’s been doing that a lot lately, people are going to start wondering about his mental state if they aren’t already. (They probably are. He needs new friends, gossips the lot of them.)

“You really don’t, you thickheaded idiot,” he says and seriously considers kissing Dedue for choosing that moment to interrupt the conversation for Dimitri’s attention on something happening at the front of their procession. 

\-----

They arrive back at Garreg Mach to far too much fanfare for Felix’s liking and he escapes as soon as he can, fleeing to the old dorms to lay down and maybe cry a little and clutch his ribs while acting like he’s going to get any sleep with how he’s feeling.

Mercedes catches him when he’s pushing the door open, cupping his elbow, “Felix, I brought you an ice pack,” she says, nudging him inside. Definitely too much time with Ingrid. “We should unwrap your ribs, give them a break.”

He sighs noisibly, but takes the towel wrapped bundle, “Thank you,” he says, too wrung out to muster up any snark, especially when she’s trying to help him.

The room is devoid of dust and something twists a little weird in him to think that someone’s been in here to dust, as if he’s really had claim to this room with it’s lockless door. She gestures to the desk and he leans against it, eases his shirt up as high as he can without help.

She makes several concerned sounds as she unwinds the bandages and he wrinkles his nose, thinks about apologizing because they smell awful after a day of riding under the sun, but bites it back as she simply sets them to the side.

Someone knocks and Felix calls, “It’s open,” before he thinks it about, as Mercedes adjusts the ice pack to her liking, flattening it out to cover as much surface area as possible.

The door swings to and it’s quiet for a moment before, “Goddess, Felix.”

Felix tips his head backwards to sigh loudly, wishes the wall were closer to he could smack his head off that.

Ice cold hits his skin and he hisses sharply through his teeth, lifting his head to glare at Mercedes, who only smiles serenely at him, “I’ll leave you two alone,” she says and pats Dimitri on the arm as she passes him. It makes Dimitri look impossibly larger, in the doorway, making room for Mercedes to slide by into the hall.

He’s dressed down though, out of his cloak and his armor, simple shirt and pants and shoes.

It’s the most Dimitri that Felix has seen him in so long that his chest aches in a way that has nothing to do with his ribs.

“I didn’t realize how bad your ribs were,” Dimitri starts, stepping into the room and nudging the door shut behind him. The room is barely lit, casting lines and shadows across his face, highlighting his sharp features.

“Yes, well,” Felix realizes he doesn’t haven’t any follow up to that and drops his shirt down over the ice pack, cupping his hand over it through the fabric. He thinks about getting off the desk, but the room feels so much smaller with Dimitri in it and he thinks if they get any closer he might combust.

It doesn’t matter though, Dimitri crosses the distance for him, almost close enough to stand between his knees. “We’ll be here for a while, you really should take it easy.”

There’s a bunch of things he could say to that, tactless snarks about Dimitri not being his mother or that maybe Dimitri should put on a nurse’s outfit if he wants to carry this out, but he says none, all of them clogged up in his throat because Dimitri touches his knee so gentle and careful.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to spar, for old time’s sake,” Dimitri carries on, like Felix’s entire upper brain functions haven’t completely ceased to exist. “It’s clear now that that’s out of the question, so I suppose my question will have to be more direct.”

Felix swallows thickly, tries to drag together his scattered thoughts, “What question is that then?”

Dimitri’s eye crinkles a little at the corner and his thumb is making small circles on the inside of Felix’s knee, “Stay in Fhirdiad,” he says quietly, conspiratorial, like they used to make plans when they were kids without Ingrid hearing.

The only difference is that Sylvain isn’t here to add his truly atrocious spins to it.

“Stay in Fhirdiad, be my right hand,” Dimitri continues, head tipping a little and he’s closer somehow even though Felix didn’t see him move, his thighs are pressing against the desk and Felix’s own thighs are spread, pressed against the outside of Dimitri’s, “Not as Duke, not as the Shield.”

Felix’s eyebrows draw together, confusion welling, but Dimitri’s on a roll now.

“Follow your heart, Felix,” Dimitri says, reaches up one of his broad palms, places flat against Felix’s chest where his heart is thundering rampant in his poor ribcage, “Be your own man. Lead the armies of Faerghus, be my sword.”

Dimitri’s eye is bright, his cheeks a little pink, expression earnest, honest and open. And it hits Felix, that Dimitri’s thought about this, thought about it a lot apparently.

They’re both breathing way too loudly for the minimal amount of space between them.

Felix licks his lips, doesn’t think about Dimitri tracking the movement, trying to focus on one thing at a time, before he nods, just a quick, sharp bob of his head, “Okay.”

Dimitri blinks at him, surprise sliding across his features, quickly followed by that quiet delight that he tries to suppress but doesn’t succeed at. Felix has had a lifetime of learning to read Dimitri’s face and he’s signing himself for more.

“Okay,” Dimitri says and squeezes his knee, laughs, a quiet little startled sound, “Okay.”

Dimitri’s bright, fervent gaze lands on his face again Felix feels pinned, a little hunted, but it’s not bad per se. “Thank you, Felix,” Dimitri’s head tilts a little, his gaze dipping then lifting back again like he’s embarrassed to have slipped, cheeks pinking.

“What?” Felix snaps, because there’s only so much he can take and Dimitri is being so still and he wonders if Dimitri can somehow hear his heart.

There’s just a slip a pink, Dimitri’s tongue touching his lower lip before disappearing again and he exhales, this loud shuddering thing that Felix feels to his bones as Dimitri’s wide palm slides down his chest, to rest over his own hand on the ice pack, “I’d really like to kiss you.”

Felix blinks at him, vision going a little fuzzy for a minute, because he thinks he might be dying or hullicating and he’s not sure which, but, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Dimitri sounds incredulous and breathless and his ears are even pink now.

Leaning forward, Felix gets a hand in his shirt, tugs, even though Dimitri is already so close, and his lips glance across Dimitri’s jaw, “Hurry up before I change my mind.”

“Okay,” Dimitri says again and his hand is so big that it fits along his jaw when he cups it, tips his head, kisses him. It’s chaste and gentle and Felix thinks he’s going to burst out of his skin when Dimitri starts to pull back and he’s not sure which of them the wounded sound comes from but Felix refuses to release his shirt, drags him back.

He makes it a proper kiss, not some brush, bites gently at Dimitri’s lower lip, soothes over it with his tongue, swallows the wounded sound that definitely comes from Dimitri now.

It works though, Dimitri presses into it, a little more enthusiastic and Felix slides his hand up around the back of Dimitri’s neck, opens his mouth to let him in, glad that his moan gets muffled between their mouths.

Dimitri moves to pull away again and Felix relents this time, though Dimitri only drags his mouth sideways, until his head is tucked against Felix’s shoulder, hair tickling his cheek. His shoulders are heaving and like this, Felix can see that the back of his neck is even red.

It’s charming and Felix feels simultaneously fifteen and twenty-three, too big and too small for his skin. 

“Your heart is racing,” Dimitri says and Felix wants to flick his ear but ends up patting his chest instead because he can’t lift his arm that high right. Dimitri is breathing heavily, breath warm against his throat and Felix sinks into the feeling with a sort of quiet and ease he hasn’t felt in a while.

Three sixty, returning back to the beginning, where he started so long ago.

Dimitri pulls away and his hand slides down, lands on his own thigh, “I should let you rest,” he says, lips shiny and red, swollen a little and it’s his own imagination, Felix knows it, but it looks like there’s an imprint of teeth on his lower one.

“Maybe,” Felix answers, more magnanimous than he’s felt in a while.

Dimitri reaches out, thumbs along his jaw and later when he’s not so tired and worn thin, Felix will pretend like he didn’t lean into it, “Goodnight, Fee.”

And he steps away to the door and Felix waits until he’s got it open, until he’s stepping through, “Night, Dima.”

It causes him to halt, to pause, fingers going tight around the door, but he turns his head enough for Felix to see that he’s smiling, before he taps his knuckles against the door and fully disappears through it.

Felix exhales into the quiet of the room, “I’m so fucked,” and slides off the desk to lay on the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @vowofenmity on twitter.


End file.
